


A Galleon Per Second

by bionically



Series: Love Fest 2020 [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fairest of The Rare's Love Fest 2020, Fairest of the Rare, Lavender needs money, Other, Pureblood Traditions, angry lavender, canines, doorknob licking, fetishes, naughty photographs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22847671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/pseuds/bionically
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Lavender Brown is desperate for money. She's willing to do just about anything, even if it's licking a few door knobs for depraved Purebloods.#TeamAphrodite #LF2020
Relationships: Lavender/doorknob
Series: Love Fest 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643674
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	A Galleon Per Second

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Disenchantedglow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disenchantedglow/gifts), [kurisutenchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurisutenchan/gifts).



> Here's to disenchantedglow and her plunnies. This one is all your fault. It's also gifted to my sweet, dear kuri, who's a wonderful friend.
> 
> https://kotaku.com/the-art-of-girls-licking-doorknobs-5838276
> 
> unbeta'd. written primarily for this Love Fest 2020. I'm actually so tired that I've written and posted. Will go back to edit fully later.

As was usual every Wednesday night at midnight, Lavender Brown Apparated from the town square to a little side street deep within Knockturn Alley and knocked on a door.

Even though they both knew who the other person was, it was normal for them to keep up this hidden routine. Blaise Zabini—a very sketchy individual if there was one—opened a knothole in the door at eye level and peered out at Lavender. She shifted from foot to foot in impatience.

After a nod, Zabini slid a pouch through the knothole and waited silently while Lavender counted the money inside. 

To keep their activities untrackable, Zabini always paid her in random knuts, sickles, and Galleons. Today, there were more Galleons than normal, and Lavender bounced the pouch experimentally against one palm. Then she poked the tip of her wand through the opening of the pouch and rattled off the incantation she now knew by heart. “ _Computus nummus.”_

All the coins inside the pouch rattled and lined up within the confines, and Lavender was able to shine a light in and rapidly recount the number of coins within.

After this ritual was finished, Lavender looked up and gave the briefest nod to Zabini. He nodded curly, his handsome mouth twisted into a sour line. 

The knothole closed with a slam, but Lavender didn't notice. She had already Apparated away.

* * *

Pureblood wizards were the biggest, most disgusting gits on the surface of the planet, and Lavender knew this fact more intimately than most.

It had all started back when the war first ended, leaving Lavender with the most horrific scars to be experienced by a woman.

It was even more horrifying because Fleur Delacour had been the Healer in charge of her at the time. Just staring at the other woman’s dainty features and pristine skin made Lavender want to lash out and destroy the entire room. 

“I don’t _need_ you here, you stupid French _bint_ ,” Lavender had shouted one day, throwing a bedpan across the room. It was empty; she wasn’t a complete animal even if her leg was bound up in three different places due to a werewolf attack. 

_The worst attack ever_ , they whispered outside of her hospital curtains, thinking she couldn’t hear. _There’s never been someone who’s been so afflicted and survived._

Lavender’s new improved hearing had served her too well in those days. She had wanted to hex out her ear drums but had to make do by covering her head with her pillow and growling to herself.

_She’s so lucky_ , a few had said. _Just think; she could have been dead_.

Lavender wished she had been outright killed. There were two gashes right across her face. There was one right over her sternum, with the other two over her abdomen. One side of her neck was badly marred. Her left leg had been broken when she had fought against the attack.

Somehow she had survived it all.

_Why?_

She didn’t know why. She only knew that when she looked in the mirror, she hated the person who stared back at her. 

Lavender had never been the beautiful, glamorous type. Her neck wasn’t long enough, her bosom was too full, her mouth was too wide, and she had a retrousse nose. None of this mattered, when she had rosy, peachy skin only somewhat dappled by light freckles. With judicious application of makeup and the right clothes, she could look very appealing indeed, appealing enough that she frequently got wolf-whistles walking down Muggle streets.

In short, she never had much to complain about, not when it came to men.

That changed after the attack. 

All of a sudden, she got averted glances, sidelong glances, discreet glances downward, as though speculating what other injuries she had and where. There were always eyes on her, flickering here and there and everywhere—it drove her barmy.

She hated it all. She hated _them._ She hated herself.

Fleur brought her husband to the hospital ward. Perhaps she thought that seeing his injuries would make Lavender feel better about herself. 

“Hello there, Lavender, is it?” Bill Weasley said with a charming smile. 

And it _was_ charming. It didn’t matter that he had a scar diagonally across the front of his face. It looked good on _him_. It just wasn’t the same, not at all. People didn’t have the same expectations from men as they did from women. On men, they gasped in awe at the scar that was the emblem of his bravery. “Wow, Bill,” they said. “How’d you survive that?” 

Bill was a warrior who had beaten his opponent.

To Lavender, they cleared their throats and said, “Well, it’s not your fault, Lav,” even though saying that implied that it _was._ “He was looking for a pretty girl, and you got in the way.”

Lavender was a _victim_.

The distinction made Lavender so angry she wanted to overturn tables. _She_ wasn’t hailed as a hero. All she was was a broken shell of a formerly beautiful woman. They called her former self beautiful _now_ , because that’s what she _was_ compared to how she looked _now._

It was just the same as when a boy got spots versus when a girl did. Inevitably it always looked worse on a girl. 

Lavender never understood why people like Hermione Granger could forego her experience and lobby for ridiculous causes like elf rights and gender equality, but now she understood.

It was different when you were on the other side.

* * *

Lavender was standing in the chemist’s, looking longingly at the expensive array of potions and creams that decorated the back wall when the store owner, a Halfblood named Mr. Jefferty, walked up to the counter.

“Oh, my dear girl,” he said, making a tsking sound when he saw her. “That would never do. The skin is a girl’s lifeblood. You _must_ try our line of Fadeaway potions. It’s the most effective scar removal out there. It has _demiguise_ extract, you understand. It’ll have your scar _invisible_ in no time at all.”

“No time?” Lavender repeated, her eyes narrowed and suspicious. Her fingers couldn’t help but hover over the edges of her bandage nervously.

“Hmm, yes,” Mr. Jefferty said. He took out his large keychain and unlocked the glass cabinet behind him. The potion was carefully taken down with both hands, reverently, as though he were handling the world’s largest and most fragile diamond. He set it on the counter between them. “Look at it,” he whispered. “Only three drops of it can make all the difference.”

Lavender didn’t believe him, especially when he recited the price. She scoffed and turned away. 

He caught her wrist. “I’ll let you have a sample of it, m’dear. Only a very little, mind, since it’s so dear.” 

And he had, in a small clear tube with a rubber squeeze top. The entire thing was put under stasis and wrapped up before it was passed into Lavender’s hands. 

Once home, Lavender took out the dropper with shaking hands and laid it out on her bathroom counter. She stared at it for a moment, breathing heavily. Then she removed the stasis in the same way that Mr. Jefferty had directed her, and squeezed one—just one—precious drop over the most hated of her scars, a red mark right under her eye. It was so glaring a mark that even with a hat and sunglasses, it was visible from half a street away. 

The potion was thick and viscous. It did not spread well. She was able to work it barely over one centimetre before it refused to move any farther. 

Lavender replaced the stasis charm and stared at herself in the mirror for a full five minutes. Nothing happened.

Disappointed but not surprised, she sighed and turned off the lights before leaving the bathroom.

That night, she found that the section of the scar that'd been treated with the potion was lighter than the surrounding area by two to three shades, a startling difference that no other magic had wrought.

* * *

Lavender was under time constraints in removing her scars. They could only be removed while they were still red and pink. She had never prayed so hard that they wouldn’t fade away.

During the day she worked as one of the staff at the Leaky Cauldron, which had been placed under the management of one Hannah Abbott. After being stared at for the first day, Lavender had requested to be put in the back. She did dishwashing and laundry and the odd chores that meant she was never in the public view.

One day, Hannah called her to the front and said, “I’m so sorry, Lavender, but we’re short-staffed today. It’s so busy. Could you handle the tables for just the lunch hour?”

Lavender wanted to say no, but Hannah was wonderful to work for. She was understanding and sweet. Lavender didn’t want to disappoint her, so she grabbed a hat and pulled it down over her head before marching out into the main room.

It was so busy that day that most of the customers didn’t even look at her. She got a few commiserating comments, which were the _worst_. She'd rather no one even alluded to her physical condition.

Then she spotted a group of people she recognised, with Blaise Zabini at the head and Gregory Goyle, that minion of Draco Malfoy’s, among them. Lavender dreaded going over there, but she pulled on her most menacing expression and stomped over.

She flashed her most intimidating smile, showing razor-sharp canines that were a gift from her werewolf attack, at the small group. Zabini raised his eyebrows at her, and Goyle stared openly with his mouth open.

Lunch passed without incident, and the small group in her section got up to leave. It hadn't been the most terrible hour, despite Gregory Goyle's fixed stares at her. They were at least good tippers.

She let out a breath of relief when the door closed behind them, their coins feeling gratifyingly heavy in her apron pocket.

During her afternoon break, she went out the back to sit on the stoop and count her tips. That was when she was interrupted by Zabini, who suddenly appeared like a ghost in the mist.

“Need money, do you?” he asked, his eyes lingering on the possessive way she held into the money in her lap.

Lavender eyed his expensive outer robes and his shiny dragonhide boots. He was even sporting a sapphire earring. She growled at him in response.

“Goyle likes your smile,” Zabini said casually. “Ever thought of posing for photos?”

Lavender avoided getting photographed as stringently as someone avoided dragon pox patients. She decided to ignore him and returned her tips back inside her pocket without looking up at all.

“I’ll give you a Galleon per photograph,” he said finally. “Actually, scratch that—a Galleon per second of frame.”

Her hands stopped moving in her lap. A standard wizarding photograph contained a full ten seconds on loop. She could make ten Galleons just like that? It was... tempting.

She looked up and eyed him suspiciously. “How would I know you wouldn’t make copies?”

“You could spell them from copying,” he said with a shrug. “Listen, it’s just something I do for friends. You in or not?”

Then he pulled a hand out of his pocket and she saw the camera in his grasp. He could very well have just snapped a photograph of her then and there, but he stopped, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Money up front,” she said. “And I want a wand-oath that there wouldn’t be additional copies.” She didn’t know any useful hexes like Hermione Granger did, but she could find out. Later.

The Galleons he passed to her felt warm and heavy in her hand, and she counted it in her head like the drops of the potion. _One drop, two drops._ The potion was very expensive; a full five Galleons per droplet.

Afterwards, she went to the chemist and bought two drops of the potion.

The next time Zabini came into the Leaky, she was the one to voluntarily motion him out the back.

* * *

It was a different set of photographs this time. These twisted Pureblood fuckers. 

First, it had been a smile to show off her pointy canines from all angles. Then, it had been a photograph of her ankles. A photograph of an upskirt showing—by request, mind—large white bloomers. Not sexy brief knickers that showed off a bit of skin, but actual bloomers. That was how Lavender knew that these Purebloods were repressed, disgusting perverts. Imagine getting off on something your grandmother’s grandmother would wear!

Lavender had acquiesced to Zabini’s requests every time. After all, aside from the first time, her face wasn’t even shown in the photographs. She wondered how much of a cut Zabini was making on these. Luckily, a chat with Hermione Granger had taught her some basic contractual hexes, so at the very least Lavender wouldn’t be out her fair share.

Sometimes she wondered at the depravity of these Purebloods. They were so conservative that they wore sleeves that covered their arms down to the knuckles and shirt collars that rose up to the jawline. She wondered if they even had sex with the light on. Probably not, if Goyle apparently got off to the sight of an open mouth with pointy canines. Perhaps they even did it with a sheet in between, for modesty's sake.

Today, it was posing with doorknobs. Zabini had demonstrated for her, and Lavender had sighed and rolled her eyes in disbelief. She was charging _double_ her rates to show her face. This time, she was making five photographs, because apparently licking doorknobs was a _big deal_ for Purebloods. It was very risque behaviour in their circles. 

Lavender put on chapstick and then pink lipstick before casting a soft filtering glamour over her features; just enough to soften any defining edges. Then she got down on her bathroom floor and stuck out her tongue, touching the cool knob of the door handle. She pouted and placed her mouth right next to the door knob before opening her mouth to its widest and attempting to place the entire thing in her mouth. Who ever said large mouths were good for nothing?

It was the strangest thing she had ever done for money, but at least it was _very_ good money. 

Those Purebloods were such suckers.


End file.
